The free soul is rare but you know it when you see it.

SOL: Homesick

Her wrists have become more
Slender, the curve of her spine less
Relaxed, I see it when she turns
Away from my outstretched fingers
Private to the point of possessive
She shuns all my shallow excuses through
Throaty words with impenetrable depth
Unspoken needs float between us
Her hair laughingly tumbles down her back
Golden roots keeping her in place
Begging her to stay in ways I could never ask